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tur', en he hev been at hit ever sence," said Bill Stokes.

"Big Mounting had powerful bad luck in the war-Jim Snyder war kilt, en my ole man got his leg shot off, en Pete Dobbins got pussest with fiddlin'. My belief air ez the Devul air in fiddlin'", said Hester solemnly. "Whar did Pete git this hyar critter he air playin' on?" asked Ben Pitts.

"Tom Welsh gin it ter him," replied Dick. "Tom air purty easy on Pete; he hev lont him meal en money. He war up thar Sa'day night er playin' on the 'cordeen. hisse'f. Tom air makin' money hand over fist, they tell me.'

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"En, Dick Harjoe," said Hester, handing a gourd of water to her guests, "mebbe ez ye hev hyern ez whut comes over the devul's back air shoar ter go under his belly; 'en nobody needunt tell me ez Tom Welsh air helpin' Pete outen pyore kindness, fur hit hain't fur true. Hit air along o' Cherrykee-he air arter her.”

"I hev hyern ez Tom owned er power in the mill, en he air got er sheer in the stoar daown thar," said Ben Pitts.

"I believe that air the correck noration, Ben," said Dick Harjoe; "en er man air er right ter go arter er 'oman, hain't he? Mebbe Cherrykee mouten dew wusser. She wudn't hev Jim Snyder when she cud git him, en naow she air honin' arter him, en won't look at narry man on the yearth. Women folks air powerful cur'us when they they take er notion. En it runs through the hull univarse; thar air my ole mar',she air cur'usser 'n the hoss-jest 'bleeged ter be, I reckon; hit air natur'."

My ole 'oman told me ez ole Mis' Welsh war continnerly sendin' arter Cherrykee, sence she hev moved daown ter the mill, en Cherrykee haint been ernigh ernot wunst," said Ben Pitts.

"En she haint er gwine ter, I tell both on ye, Dick Harjoe en Ben Pitts. Cherrykee dew know men o' the right stripe, ef ye don't. Tom Welsh air er nasty, weevul-eatin', suck

aig hound, ez air not darsen ter hold up his head by the side o' sech ez Jim Snyderah, Jim war the right stripe," retorted Mrs. Harjoe, wiping her eyes with her apron.

"He war-he war fur true, Mis' Harjoe," said Ben Pitts.

"Dick," said Bill Stokes, "yer wife air correck. Tom Welsh air in with them ar radikills out en out- jest solt hisse'f. They gin him money ter put in that stoar. He air er dratted vilyin!"

"Lud! I haint er comparin' him ter Jimn ur any man o' the right stripe. The likes o' Jim Snyder haint nowhar in the hull kentry. I don't holt ter sich ez Tom Welsh-I druther be shed o' sich er cuss; but when Hester gits so peert, en runs so hard, ye see I air 'bleeged ter pull er check rein jest er leetul, fur she wudn't leaf er ha'r on Tom's head-hit 'ud be ez bar' ez er possum tail." And Dick winked significantly at the men.

Hester was a little appeased, but pursued her subject. "Ter my thinkin', Tom Welsh air wusser 'n er rale live Yankee--he air er outdacious mean Allerbamy Yankee, all the wusser fur bein' home-made. druther deal with er furrin un."


"Ye air correck, Hester," answered Dick. "It air er true word ez the rale, live arteekul uv er Yankee air better'n the home-made truck."

"I haint no harder 'n I orter be," replied Hester. "I war at the stoar er fortnit ergo, ter git some caliky, en thar war Tom Welsh with stoar close on, en er high hat, en er big shiny chain on ter his wescut. 'How air ye, Mis' Harjoe?' says he, en he fetched er bow daown ter the doar-sell,"and Mrs. Harjoe rose from her chair and imitated Tom's salutation so well that the men laughed uproariously. "En he nuver laid han's ter help me offen my critter; en when I sot myse'f on the saddul ter come home, he walked up en 'lowed, 'Mis' Harjoe, it war my expectate ter call on ye at Big Mounting, but my buggy wheels air bruk, en I 'ull take er futur' horportunity ter take

dinner with ye. My cormplerments ter the Capting.' Says I ez pintedly ez I knowed haow, Tom Welsh, when I git dinner fur er 'restercrat, he 'ull be er rale un, warp en fillin', en no sich slazy stuff ez ye air; en I gin my critter er cut o' the switch, en war outen sight afore he got his senses."

"I reckin ye tuk the consate outen him, Mis' Harjoe," said Ben Pitts.

"Ye cudn't take the consate outen Tom Welsh, ef ye war ter beat him with er hominy pessul. Hit air wusser'n poke-berry dye; hit air tew deep sot. He air sich er fool! Why he hev ackshally writ letters ter Cherrykee on smellin' paper en enwhollopments ter match!" replied Hester laughing derisively.

"I tell ye, Dick," said Bill Stokes, "I know-he war in my riggyment, the twentytewth Allerbamy. He war er big secesher, but he didn't go till he war cornscripted. Onst we war settin' rount the camp-fire talkin': some o' the men 'lowed ez they war fightin' fur the flag, en some ez they war fightin' fur wife en childun; and Tom war powerful peert at talkin'-he 'lowed he hain't no wife nur childun, en he didunt keer a darn fur the flag; he war fighting fur whut air up, he war. En ter my thinkin', that air Tom's idee allus: his man air Tom Welsh everywhar-you uns en we uns ken go ter the dogs."

"Waal, Bill," answered Dick, shaking his head, "I reckin he war the onliest man on the Cornfederick side ez got whut he war fightin' fur."

"Er true word, Dick," laughed Bill Stokes. "En naow he air got moar'n ye en me, ez fit fur the kentry the hull foar year," continued Bill, growing more serious. "I tell ye, Dick, I hain't seen yit the rale inside o' the meanin' o' this hyar war. Whut er power o' good men war kilt! en jest look at the raskells-Tom Welsh er ridin errount in his buggy; Jedge Barrett en Jim Snyder, both on 'em gone. I hyerd ez the Jedge's wife war school teaching ter

take keer on her chill'un. That 'ud gone agin Jim's grain powerful."

"En hit dew go agin mine, Bill," answered Dick. "I hev thunk erbout the Jedge en Jim-en myse'f"-and he looked down at his maimed body; but, Bill, I reckin ez the Orlmighty 'ull dew justice. I air 'bleeged ter think that. I reckin Him. ez ken make er pa'r o' good legs 'ull know whut ter dew fur them ez hain't but the one that dew stan' ter reason, Bill. LeastHit air true ez He

ways, hit appears so. ways, hit appears so.

ken see further-'n we uns.

My ole mar' air

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Naow," said Dick, "that dew fetch ter my ricollection whut er man ez lives at the mill tolt me. He come frum Shiloh, en 'lowed uz thar war nights when the moon war not shinin' ez ye cud see both armies er fightin' up in the a'r. Ye cud see the men en horses en cannon ez plain ez the hand afore ye. He 'lowed he hev seen the fightin' jest like hit war at Shiloh, with his own eyes. I know thar air hants, but I hain't seen 'em yit."

"They 'lowed agin," continued Ben Pitts, "ez Tom Welsh war drivin' his buggy across Bug Chitty, where Jim Snyder's team usen ter cross, en suddently Jim's hant stood afore him, en Tom were that skeered he fell clean outen his buggy inter the crick."

Mrs. Harjoe burst into a hearty laugh. "I lay he war bad skeered," said she. "Ye ken bet yer corn-crop, Ben Pitts, ez ef Tom Welsh cud see the eend o' Jim Snyder's

leetul finger he 'ud be skeered outen his senses, hoss en buggy ur no hoss en buggy." "I hyerd the noration ez Jim's hant war in the mounting, en mebbe hit dew splanify the reason Cherrykee don't git married. Bein' ez haow she air livin' in the cabin ez Jim gin her, mebbe she air erfeared," said Bill Stokes.

"Nay, Bill, Jim Snyder war not er man ter skeer er 'oman when he war livin', en his hant, ef hit air hissen, don't come back ter make no 'oman erfeared," answered Dick Harjoe authoritatively. "But I say the word ez hit mouten be the bestest ef Cherrykee 'ud furgit Jim en marry er good man-not Tom Welsh--jest let her usen her own choosin's."

"Bekase that air the ways o' men. Thar be er differ betwixt the ways o' men en the ways o' women, en er big differ, tew. It hain't the ways o' women ter furgit. Cherrykee air never gwine ter furgit Jim Snyderhit hain't her way," said Hester. "Her way air not ter furgit."

"So hit air-so hit air, Mrs. Harjoe," replied Bill Stokes. "I hev knowed women ez 'ud worrit er man whilst he war livin', en study er power on him arter he war dead. But I reckon ez my critter hev hed time ter blow. Ben, I air minded ter start afore the dark 'ull ketch us-night air comin'. Far'well ter ye, Dick; Far'well ter ye, Mis' Harjoe. When ye air tuk with er notion ter go beyant, my ole 'oman 'ull be powerful glad ter see ye."

As the men rode homeward, the shades of evening gathered over the mountain. The monotonous flow of Bogue Chitta Creek, and the occasional note of the dove and the whippoorwill, the plaintiveness of which added to the solemnity of the scene, and the still less frequent trail of some horseman, hurrying to his destination, were the only sounds that broke the universal stillness. Dick Harjoe, after taking leave of his guests, had resumed his seat and his pipe, and Hester was busy in preparing supper.

Suddenly an object in the distance caused

Dick to drop his pipe and stare intently. A misty light ascended from the bed of the creek and followed the current until it reached a knot of fir trees, where it rose and sank, and rose and sank again, growing more brilliant and mysterious from contrast with the tall, grim shadows behind it.

"Hester-Hester-jest view this hyar sight, will ye?" called Dick.

"Hey hey," answered Hester, walking into the passage with a large iron spoon in her hand, dripping with grease from the skillet. "Ye needunt call me ter view, Dick Harjoe; I hev viewed hit frum the winder, en hit haint the fust time nuther, nur the last, to my thinkin'."

"I 'ull be dod-rabbit ef hit haint the biggest en peertest Jack o' Lantern I ever sot my tew eyes on in my borned days," said Dick, leaning on his crutch and peering around the intervening trees.

"Gin hit the name ye will, Dick Harjoe, but I hev knowed hit afore. When ye war tuk with the tarrified fever, hit usen ter come reg'lar en stan' daown the crick torruds yer 'tater patch; thar, hit 'ud rise en beckin' ter me, en the wusser ye got, the higher hit riz, en when I prayed in my heart, hit seem ez hit 'ud say: Keep up yer sperrit, Hester -keep up yer sperrit; I air er watchin' with ye,' en when the fever left ye, hit didn't come no moar: then I knowed ez ye war gwine ter git well. Look! look! Dick Harjoe! hit air gwine nigher en nigher on ter Cherrykee's cabin. The word hit fetches air hern this time, shore-the last time I seed Cherrykee, her face war ez white ez flour dough."

"But Hester," answered Dick, "er Jack o' Lantern cudn't tell ye ez I war gwine ter git well."

"Mebbe hit cudn't; but I know ez Jim Snyder's hant cud tell what hit war er mint ter tell, en ef er hant 'ud want ter come in the likes uv er Jack o' Lantern, what air ter hender hit, Dick Harjoe?"

"Dew Cherrykee say ez she hev seed Jim's hant, Hester ?"

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she ter say?
When it was er comin' jewrin
ye war sick, I didunt say nothin'-hants
air fur them ez 'ull see 'em. I tell ye, Dick
Harjoe, hit haint fer women ter say every-
thing ez they hev knowed. Men hev ther
ways en women hev thern."
"I hev hearn ez them ken see hants ez
air borned with er corl over their eyes,

"Mebbe, that air er true word, Dick Harjoe; but I know ez I seen Jim Snyder's hant ev'ry time the roads air fittin' fur horlin', sence he was kilt in the war."

"Hester, I haint sayin' thar haint no hants, mind ye-I believe nat'ally thar be hants; but of this hyar air Jim Snyder's hant, hit air pintedly the fust I ever seen." Zitella Cocke.


Because my life has lain so close to thine,

Because our hearts have kept a common beat,

Because thine eyes, turned towards me frank and sweet,
Reveal sometimes thine unthought thoughts to mine,

Think not that I, by curious design,

Or over-step of too impetuous feet,

Could desecrate thy soul's supreme retreat,
Could disregard its quivering barrier-line.
Only a simple Levite, I, who stand

On the world's side of the most holy place.
Till, as the new day glorifies the east,
One come to lift the veil with reverent hand,
And enter with thy soul's soul face to face,-
He whom thy God shall call to be high priest.

Ellen Burroughs.


Owing to the circumscribed space allotted in our atlases to the vast continent called Africa, it is very difficult to form an ade

quate idea of its dimensions. In Europe, In Europe, Asia, and America, both North and South, there are certain well-known divisions into which each of these continents is distributed, known respectively as republics, kingdoms, or empires, and as a separate map devoted to each of these, some conception may be arrived at of the extent of the continent so divided. With regard to Africa, however, if you except Egypt, the British

Colonies in the South, and possibly Algeria, no separate maps exist--indeed a delineation of the semi or wholly barbaric states, (and they are many) which occupy much of its surface will simply be impracticable for centuries to come, without taking into consideration the innumerable savage tribes which make up the balance of the population.

A wonderful amount of ignorance prevails everywhere as to the greater number of these states, and of course to a much more considerable extent with regard to the numberless subdivisions of the inhabitants. A book

of travels is taken up and possesses a special interest for the moment, particularly when we read of the daring exploits and wonderful tenacity of purpose of such men as Livingstone, Stanley, Burton, Speke, Grant, Baker, and Cameron, but how much of its contents does the mind retain? Little generally, but a somewhat confused recollection of the names of places, and previously unheard of habits and customs, an attempt to commit the whole of which to memory would be a hopeless task. Only a continuous course of study, especially a repeated perusal of works of this character, could produce sufficient impression on the brain; and as few or none care to take this trouble, very little knowledge of Africa is to be found, even in the best educated circles.

There are, however, various degrees of ignorance, and that part of the continent to which I am about to draw your attention is probably even less known to many than the


Few people ever hear of the east coast of Africa without associating with it simply the idea of the eastern portion of the Cape Colony, the British settlement of Natal, the Zulu Caffres as connected with the late war, and the Dutch Republic of the Transvaal, not long since so valiantly defended. But the map shows what a very small section of the continent is comprised within these territories--taking into consideration the vast extent of sea-board to the north of them up to Suez, all which may be included in the designation "East Coast of Africa."

With respect to the knowledge which the ancients possessed of this coast, we learn from Herodotus that Necho, King of Egypt, about 500 B. C., fittǝd out a naval expedition to circumnavigate Africa; but unfortunately no account of its results has been preserved. From other sources we find that various exploring expeditions were undertaken by way of the Red Sea, and that one at least of them reached the vicinity of Delagoa Bay and Madagascar. King Solomon

had the credit of originating one or more of them, and it is conjectured, from the slight similarity of name, that the celebrated Ophir, or land of gold, mentioned in the Bible, was no other than Sofala, one of the Portuguese possessions acquired at the beginning of the sixteenth century.

And now we come to those once celebrated navigators, the Portuguese. As on the west coast, where their settlements and the territory thereto appertaining, notably Angola and Benguela, extend for a considerable distance, they, towards the close of the fifteenth century, began to establish themselves on the east. In 1486 Bartolomé Diaz advanced as far as the Cape of Good Hope, which he called Cabo Tormentoso or Stormy Cape, a term that sailors, even at the present day, would consider very appropriate. The king of Portugal, however, gave it its present more auspicious name, as its discovery afforded a hope of a new and easier way to India, the great object of all the maritime expeditions of that age. Subsequently to Diaz, in 1497, the renowned Vasco de Gama, immortalized in verse by Camoens, the only Portuguese poet worth naming, doubled the Cape on his way to India, touched at various points on the east coast, and finally brought up at Goa on that of Malabar, which remains Portuguese to the present day. At Mozambique, Quiloa, Mombaza, and Melinda, he found towns occupied by Mahometans, whom he calls Moors, but who were really town Arabs; from most of whom he received but scant courtesy, the only place where the meeting was genuinely friendly being Melinda. The result of this visit was the gradual conquest of the greater portion of the coast by the Portuguese as far as the last named town, which remained free-probably out of consideration for the former hospitality of its inhabitants; but it has now ceased to exist. The present territory owned by the Portuguese is very small compared with what it was at the close of their conquests. Pro

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